Some of us
by sas.90
Summary: It's not the past that matters. All that matters is now.


Just a little something I wrote the other day and forgot to upload. So here it is.

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**Some of us.**

She was chewing on her salad deliberately, her jaw moving slowly, her eyes watching him sans gêne. He knew she was watching him, but it had stopped bothering him a while ago. He'd gotten used to it after four years of working with her. She'd speak up when she was ready. When she had formed the question she felt she needed to ask.

So he continued to poke at her home made mac and cheese that was lying on his plate in front of him. Truth be told, he wasn't really all that hungry, but he'd finish his plate, just because she'd put so much effort into preparing his favourite dish. Just as he popped some more of the macceroni into his mouth she finanlly voiced the question that had been running through her mind.

"How many?" She wasn't the one for easing into a question. Or specifying it. No, Bones just cut right to the chase.

"How many what?" He glanced up at her and swallowed the food. She'd put her fork down. This meant it was a serious subject. Although, he couldn't remember the last time she'd started a light conversation. With her, there was always something behind it.

"Scars. How many scars do you have? I remember you showing the one to David Sanders, the one you got playing soldier with your brother.." He cut her off after taking a sip of his water.

"You remembered that?"

"Yes." She responded as if it were obvious that she would not forget such thing.

"And I also know that you have scars on the bottoms of your feet from when you were beaten with pipes in Kosovo. And I noticed some on your back which were probably caused when you tried to shield your friend from..-" Again, he did not let her finish. And he'd put his cutlery down as well, feeling as if this subject needed his undivided attention.

"I get it, Bones, but honestly? I have no idea. Too many to count I guess."

"But do you have any more that I don't know about? I'd like to know what caused them."

"Why?" He was genuinely curious as to know why she'd ask him this all of a sudden. It had been almost two years since she'd brought up those scars. The ones she'd discovered when he was in the hospital anyway. Why bring it up now?

"Well you're always telling me to make more small talk, I'm trying to put your advice to good use."

Of course, he should've known. It was Bones after all. Her response made him chuckle and she looked at him as if he'd just grown another head.

"Small talk, Bones, is about kids or what someone's plans are for the holidays. Scars are not exactly a subject for small talk."

"Oh." She seemed disappointed if not even a little embarassed by her mistake. Booth didn't mind. He knew her and had accepted her lack of social skills years ago, even if she'd made a lot of progress over the time they'd been working together.

He pushed his plate further to the middle of the table and got to his feet. She watched him silentely, wondering where he was going.

"Alright." He started to unbutton his shirt and she shifted on her chair, sitting up straight and watching him slip his white button-down shirt off his shoulders and onto his chair. Then he procceeded to point to a small diagonal scar on his upper arm. It seemed to move slightly when he flexed his muscles subconsiously.

"That one I got from playing soldier with Jared as well. I fell into a pile of rocks we'd created. Some were quite sharp. That's how I got the one at my waist as well."

Her blue eyes followed when he moved his finger to a place just above the tattoo on his left wrist.

"And do you see that?" His finger was pointing to a near invisible white spot. She nodded, still no speaking.

"I got that when I was careless with a pocketknife when I was ten. I was cutting into a cardboard box and the knife slipped. Right into my wrist."

"Right next to your main artery."

"Yeah, I was pretty lucky to have missed that, but it left a scar nonetheless." Then, he turned around and the light above the dinner table shone across his toned back, revealing every single scar she hadn't seen before.

"From Kosovo?" She asked, her voice almost whisper like, because that seemed appropriate somehow.

He simply nodded.

"Rocks, beatings, crappy sleeping places, and much more. But it's okay now." He turned back to face her, barely giving her time to study his scars any more while he put his shirt back on and buttoned it up neatly. Good as new.

"Booth all those scars. It shows you've had an extremely difficult past."

"Yes, but you knew that. And as you said it's my past. What matters is now. And the future."

"Have you ever considered cosmetic surgery for those scars?" Her blue eyes watched him intently while waiting for his answer. The food sat long forgotten on their plates and had gone cold. But neither of them was hungry anyway.

"I wouldn't.." He started and trailed off. When he met her gaze he shook his head firmly.

"No. I don't want cosmetic surgery to have them removed or even reduced."

"You know wearing them doesn't make you any more of a hero." Her words cut through him like glass, creating a brand new scar and shocking him slightly. It made him wonder whether he'd heard her wrong. Judging by the serious look in her eyes he hadn't and he looked hurt, offended even.

"Great. Thanks, Bones." Sarcasm. And this was one of those rare moments she picked up on it, realizing what she'd said had come out wrong.

"No that's.. That's not what I meant, Booth. I meant to say that having them reduced wouldn't make you any less of a hero. Or actually what I'm trying to say is that whether you have them or not - " She paused briefly, searching for the right words. He waited.

"You're still a hero. You served for your country, you survived. And now you're with the FBI putting murderers away, and receiving awards for your work. You're great at your job, Booth. And you were a great soldier. You're a hero and people will see that whether you have those scars or not." A soft sigh escaped her lips. She looked more at ease now, somehow. As if she'd needed to get that off her chest for a long time. Finally the look in his brown eyes softened and a smile made a brief appearance on his features.

"Thanks, Bones." This time there was no sarcasm, but a genuine smile. She returned it and got to her feet, collecting the dirty dishes.

"You're welcome."

"So being a hero and all, does that mean I won't have to do the dishes?" He tried his best signature charm smile and picked up the glass bowl with left over mac and cheese.

"You're drying." She told him sternly before walking toward the sink. He chuckled quietly to himself and followed, wanting nothing more than to join her doing the dishes. Who knew maybe she'd even be able to figure out how to make some small talk.

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End file.
